


Ty govorish' po-angliyski?

by Arukou



Series: Tumblr Archive [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossed signals, Implied Past Character Death, M/M, Meet-Cute, Non-powered AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's new neighbor is so fine Sam would almost be willing to learn Russian just to flirt with him. Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ty govorish' po-angliyski?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/post/125556565292/pairing-sam-wilsonbucky-barnes-warnings-steve).
> 
> I google translated the Russian, so if anyone wants to correct me, please do.

“Thanks again for telling me about this apartment, man,” Sam said as he locked the door. “I was beginning to think finding a place in Brooklyn was going to be impossible. And then I’d be left with Long Island. Fucking Long Island.”

“My pleasure,” Steve said with a grin, sticking his hands in his pockets and giving an “aw shucks” grin. I’m glad you decided to move up here. I was getting worried I’d have to find a new running buddy.”

“You mean a new lackey to humiliate?”

“No one likes a sore loser, Sam.”

“And no one likes a smug bastard either.”

Steve grinned and they both stepped into the elevator. Sam was about to hit the door close button when two people appeared around the bend in the hallway. The man waved his hand and Sam switched to hit the door hold button; he was glad he had.

Waving dude was fine, and Sam was already considering how best to smoothly ask for a number, a date, a something, until the couple came in range and he heard them exchanging rapid fire Russian. The woman was smirking, her red hair brushing her shoulders, and Fine Guy was pouting a little, his perfect bottom lip jutting with irritation.

“Just my luck the first hot guy I meet in Brooklyn doesn’t speak English.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced down the hallway before smirking. “First hot guy? What am I? Chopped liver?”

“You’re taken is what you are. I don’t poach. Besides, I don’t want to put up with your cocky-ass attitude. I bet you peacock in bed, don’t you?”

“You really want to go there?”

“Naw. I want to ogle Fine Guy,” Sam said, nodding as the Russian folks slid into the elevator.

“You could always learn Russian. Ask Fine Guy out that way,” Steve said. The bastard was still smirking, and he was stretching a little, fingers wriggling over his head. It was almost like he was trying to tell Sam something, but Sam was missing the message entirely.

Fine Guy turned around, and his silhouette from the back was even better: broad, but not quite like Steve. He didn’t come off as intimidatingly large. And he knew how to dress himself, jeans hugging his hips in just the right places. Sam shivered and tried to avert his eyes, only to catch both Steve and the Russian woman watching him with knowing eyes.

“Just three months of Rosetta Stone, Sam. That’s all it’d take,” Steve teased, hip checking him.

“Shut up, man. I’ll admire from afar.”

* * *

It became a routine. Steve would turn up at his door at 5:00 AM for their morning run and together they’d catch the elevator. Almost without fail, Fine Guy came out at the same time, usually alone though sometimes with the same redhead from before. Sam figured he must have the early shift wherever he was working, because he was almost always dressed in well-tailored business casual. It took Sam ages to notice the guy was sporting a state-of-the-art prosthesis, an arm that moved more fluidly than anything Sam had ever seen before. Fine Guy was almost always wearing long sleeves, and the first balmy summer day he sported short sleeves, Sam nearly collapsed against the elevator wall. Fine Guy had a pair of fine arms to go with his fine ass and shoulders, and somehow seeing the bared prosthesis really got to Sam, like Fine Guy was letting him see a little glimpse past the veneer of barely acquainted neighbors.

And Steve’s teasing was relentless and shameless. “Oh, we’ve got gray slacks today. Very nice if I do say so myself.” “He’s got a tie on today. Just imagine what fun you could have with a nice silk tie, Sam.” “Hair up. I’m liking the hair up. Sets off his jaw nicely. You could always…”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I will beat you. He might speak English for all I know.”

But as far as Sam could tell, Fine Guy didn’t have two English words to rub together. Sometimes he was on his cell, and the conversation was always rapid-fire Russian, round vowels and sharp T’s, long rolling Z’s that reverberated in Sam’s ears.

“Christ, I’m pathetic. Crushing on some dude I can’t even hold a conversation with. Can we go out drinking? Find some nice little one night stand to take my mind off of it?”

“You’re not pathetic. I mean, today he put his hair up again. Maybe he likes being appreciated.”

It might have been in Sam’s imagination, but he thought Fine Guy’s shoulders stiffened and his head tilted toward Steve. “Man, you are a terrible enabler. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“My good looks and debonair charm?”

“Christ, you’re a troll.” In front of him, Fine Guy coughed, but it almost sounded like a guffaw. Sam nearly said something, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling, but then the elevator dinged and Fine Guy strolled out, fishing his phone from his pocket as he went. Momentarily, his slacks pulled tight across his ass and Sam forgot what he’d been planning on saying. By the time he found his tongue again, it was too late.

* * *

For a month, Steve needled Sam about Fine Guy. It wasn’t every day, but it was enough that Sam was getting fed up. “Dude. Let it go. I’m not gonna learn Russian just to ask him out, so let it go or find me a different guy. Quit being such an ass.”

Rather than being tetchy back, Steve grinned even wider. “Actually, now that you mention it, I’ve got this friend…”

“No. I take it back. Keep needling me about Fine Guy. No blind dates.”

“But I’ve told you about him before. Bucky? You remember me talking about Bucky?”

“Your best friend? The one you corrupted? Yeah. I remember.”

“Well, as it turns out, he’s looking for a little romance himself. How would you feel about meeting him? Group environment. No pressure or anything.”

Sam thought it over, glancing in front of him where Fine Guy was fiddling with his phone. He was rocking back and forth on his feet, like he was feeling a little antsy today. After a moment, Sam sighed and nodded. “Alright. I’ll meet him. But for the love of god, give the asshole routine a rest, alright? Let me do things at my own pace.”

At that, Steve did look genuinely sorry. He bowed his head a little, jaw clenched. “I’m sorry about that. It’s just…you’ve been single a long time, Sam. I know you still think about Riley a lot, but maybe it’s time to move on?”

Sam looked down at the silver ring on his right hand, absently running his thumb over the smooth metal. “Yeah, I…yeah. I know.”

“He would’ve wanted you to be happy.”

The ding of the elevator saved Sam from having to answer. Ahead of him, Fine Guy glanced back, and there was something in his gaze. It sent a zing straight to Sam’s heart and he felt a pang of regret that they couldn’t strike up a conversation. “I know,” he said softly, and then stepped out, trailing Fine Guy out the building, Steve behind him.

* * *

“Where are you guys? I can’t find you.”

“Private room. Back of the restaurant.”

Sam wove his way through the boisterous crowd until he found a hallway leading to the private rooms. A waiter stopped him, asked him about his party, and then led him straight back. Steve was there, sitting back with his arm around Tony, legs flung out in front of him. The rest of the gang was arrayed around the table, all of them already sporting beers. Sam’s gaze traveled along them, trying to find the mysterious Bucky. Bruce and Betty were sitting back sedately, chewing on science with Jane and an occasional comment from Tony. Thor and Steve were talking about the last Mets game, Clint arguing with both of them over the merits of the Cubs. And just beyond them Pepper was chatting with…the redhead. The Russian redhead. Sam felt a flutter of unease, especially when redhead turned and said in perfectly unaccented English, “Ah. Your admirer’s here.” Because next to her was Fine Guy, and he was looking even finer than usual. Also a little sheepish.

“Hi,” he said, waving slightly with his prosthetic hand.

Steve leaned forward, a massive shit-eating grin on his face, and said, “Sam, I’d like you to meet Bucky. But I believe you’ve already met.”

Sam stood on the threshold, and he knew he was gaping, could feel the way his ears were going hot with anger and embarrassment. He was silent for so long that Steve’s smile fell away and he leaned forward. “Sam? Sam, are you alright?”

“You. Fucking. Asshole,” he said, whirling and pointing at Steve. “I’m going to kill you. No one will ever find the body. And even if they catch me, they’ll call it justified when I tell them how you…”

Next to Steve, Tony was laughing, and Clint was smirking as well. Redhead was also smirking at him and she leaned forward. “Serves you right for making assumptions about people’s English abilities.”

“I do not think the punishment fit the crime,” Sam spluttered, striding into the room so he could punch Steve in the arm.

At that, Steve did start laughing, though he was holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just you said it and then Nat and Bucky went along with it and it was too good. By the time I realized you’d be mad, it was little too late to come clean about it. I’m sorry. Really.” He didn’t sound sorry, not with the way he was giggling, and Sam moved to punch him again, but across the table, Bucky stood up and Sam’s center of focus shifted and narrowed.

Bucky came around, wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, a leather jacket draped over his shoulders. He was still wearing that sheepish smile, and Sam’s heart did a little flip. “Hi,” Bucky said again, extending his flesh hand. “I, uh…I’m sorry about tricking you. You just…and then Steve…it was a dumb idea, all around and I should’ve come clean weeks ago, but I was really embarrassed about the whole thing. I asked Steve to arrange all this so I could apologize. Don’t hold him completely responsible. It was my mistake, just as much as his. Can you forgive me? Fresh start?”

Sam considered his extended hand and the way his shoulders hunched in, the nervous shift in his hips. After a moment, he turned and delivered one last sharp punch to Steve shoulder before giving his attention to Bucky. He took Bucky’s hand, shook it, and said, “Hi. I’m Sam Wilson. I have assholes for friends, make an idiot of myself on occasion, and would like to get to know you better.”

Bucky smiled a little at that, and the tension in his shoulders eased. “Hi. I’m James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky. I also have assholes for friends, have a hard time flirting with people I actually like, and would definitely like to take you up on that offer.”

For a long moment, Sam couldn’t seem to let go of Bucky’s hand, wanted to pull him in closer, but then Clint said, “You drinking anything, Sam?” and the moment was broken. Sam took the empty chair next to Bucky and conversation resumed around them, friendly and energetic and more relaxed than it had been just a few minutes ago.

Across from him, Steve grinned his shit-eating grin and said, “Still need to learn a little Russian? I’ve got some friends that could help you with that.”

Sam fixed him with a look and leaned forward. “Man, revenge is gonna be so sweet. You’ll never even see it coming.”

Beside him, Bucky leaned forward and matched Sam’s posture, elbows on the table and grin sharp. “You really won’t see it coming, Stevie. ‘Cause I’m gonna help him.”

Across the table, Steve gulped and looked nervously at Tony, who shrugged as if to say, “Your funeral.” Sam met Bucky’s eyes, and felt a smile growing on his face. Revenge would be sweet indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by [theappleppielifestyle](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/) which read "we take the same elevator every day and due to a misunderstanding I assumed you didn’t speak english and I’ve been talking to my friend about how hot you are for three weeks and apparently my friend has known from the start but you agreed not to tell me bc you both think its hilarious what the fuck’ au”.
> 
> Come join me on [tumblr](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com) for more general nerdery and fanfiction.


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